Selfish Tears
by InsecureLemon
Summary: One-shot: Shizuru's thoughts a couple of months after the end of the Dark Tournament and Sakyou's death. Rated T for language.


**Author's Note: **Hey, this is my first story being submitted on here, I hope you guys like it. I just kinda came to me while I was doing some math homework. It's Shizuru's thoughts a couple of months after the Dark Tournament's end and Sakyou's death. It is, of course, ShizuruxSakyou and from Shizuru's PoV.

--

So, I'm not the prettiest girl around.

Who cares?

So, I'm not the funniest girl around.

Big deal.

So, I'm not your ideal 'wallflower.'

Whatever.

I can hold my own against these assholes. I can do just fine, thank you very much. From street punks to quite a few demons, I've seen my share. I guess I'm what you'd call the 'big sister' of the girls; while the boys are off fighting I try to look after them and make sure they're okay.

But some times I do wonder, you know... Who's gonna look after me?

It sounds really selfish when I put it like that, I know. But still,f I can't help but find myself thinking sometimes. Being strong can only get you so far; you can only do it for so long. Keiko, Botan, Yukina, I love them all dearly, even if I don't act like it all the time. Baby bro, Yusuke, Kurama, Hiei, and even Genkai… I do think about them, y'know? Oh sure, I know they'll come out of it fine, and even if they don't, worrying won't get you anywhere. What's that saying? No use crying over spilled milk? Yeah, I guess that's it. Then… what do I cry over?

Myself? No, that's selfish.

The world? No, that's stupid.

Life? I won't even go there…

What about… _him_?

Yes… Maybe him.

Silky black hair, a handsome, angular face, and entrancing smile, and eyes so blue and deep one could simply lose themselves in them…

God, what am I thinking?

It doesn't matter, right? He's dead. He's been dead for months. I saw him die. Well… sort of. The entire goddamn stadium collapsed on him. Suicidal bastard. How could he be so damn selfish? Just go and kill himself like that over a stupid bet. Damn.

I sigh and take my pack of smokes from my breast pocket, followed by the lighter.

His lighter.

I can see my reflection in the black metal, staring back up at myself in this small rectangle, the initials "SA" engraved in an elegant, golden script.

Like him.

I roll my eyes at myself and snap the cap open, putting the flame up to the butt of my cig, I take a deep breath. I can feel my worries go out as the smoke goes in.

Oh, it's terrible for you, I know that. A lot of things are terrible for you; avoid them all and you might as well be dead. But then again, that's life, right?

I take the cigarette between my index and middle finger, breathing out a cloud of smoke as I uncross my legs and stare out the window. My other hand absent-mindedly traces over the golden letters indented into the lighter, a hobby I've developed ever since.

Bastard.

That's all I can think.

That selfish bastard.

I close my eyes, and suddenly I'm taken back to that basement. The image plays itself in my head over and over again, like some obnoxious little rerun of your favorite TV series. You're sick of it, but you love it.

I can see him smiling at me, even through the embers and flames and collapsing concrete.

He sits there, smiling. Smiling. He's fucking _smiling_ at me while I'm crying my goddamn eyes out, begging him not to leave me.

Don't. Leave. Me.

Please...

I can feel my hand ball itself into a fist around his lighter as an all-too-familiar knot beings to tie itself in my stomach.

No, damn it. Not again.

I'm not going to cry.

Not for his sake.

Not for the likes of him.

Crap.

Too late. I can feel the moisture build in the corner of my eye, finding itself down my cheek.

It's amazing, really. Stupid, but amazing. I used to never cry. Never. I didn't even cry when my little brother was getting himself beaten to the brink of death.

I. Didn't. Cry.

Now, I find myself like this almost every time I'm alone. It's developed into a kind of masochistic hobby, really. I'll sit on my bed, near the window, on a bench… Anywhere. I'll hold his lighter close to my chest, like I'm doing now, and I'll fucking cry my eyes out. Like I'm doing now.

I'm not being selfish. I'm crying for him. I'm crying for Sakyou. That selfish, arrogant, egotistical, _beautiful_ man who left me behind that day.

I'm crying for him, not me.

I'm crying for him.

For him.

Right?


End file.
